


the stone inside you still hasn’t hit bottom

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: loves always breaking your heart [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, POV First Person, POV Jess, Poetry, The Author Regrets Nothing, also a few poems about jess' childhood, gilmore girls - Freeform, jess is a poet, jess mariano - Freeform, jess needs a hug, now has an audio version!, pining Jess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 01:03:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"good boys don't pick fights they can't win" he says and I know this - know that detention exists for society's lowest<br/>and I don't have the energy to tell him that boys like me have no choice but to fend off predators that gnaw on our bones with razor sharp teeth<br/>because we're born in steel cages instead of a womb - the key tossed upon conception<br/>if we do not fight, we will die<br/>we were not built to live, we were built to survive</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stone inside you still hasn’t hit bottom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the stone inside you still hasn't hit bottom (audio reading)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/300834) by jenny pan. 



> (title is from a poem by richard siken)

1.

I watched a man bleed to death, saw the white puffs of his breath in a New York Winter as they became smaller and smaller until the air was heavy with the absence

he had no name, they told me this when his body was carted away like a piece of furniture left on the curb

 _Jacob,_ I told them, his name was _Jacob_

they didn't listen, they never listen

I only wanted to bring him flowers

I was twelve

 

2.

four walls became a prison, slack gray paint laced with lead and cockroaches building armies while I slept

two square meals a day, condensed soup and peanut butter sandwiches washed down with cheap beer

music loud enough to drown out the screaming match down the hall

and I wondered if this would be the last time

if this would be the cracked window that let the light in

it never was

 

3.

when children are sleeping on stoops with raindrops collecting on hunched shoulders

when icicles become the knife that you impale yourself with

when books are cheaper than therapy so you use pages as a pillow in hopes that they'll save you

when teaching yourself how to hot wire a car trumps formal education

when you're not sure if living is worth the hassle

that's when you'll see me

 

4.

his name was apollo, _destroyer of worlds_

but his eyes carried rivers of forgiveness, ages of pain

skin wrinkled and marred from the sun

creased palm with scars from stories he'll never tell

he was a professor with no students

had ended up on the other end of desperation when he lost his wife

he taught me about the classics, about the bluebird in Bukowski's heart

waxed poetic about the unethical trial of Kafka's Josef K and how we all end up in the gutter in the end

and I finally understood what other students meant when they bragged about their fathers

because he was mine in every way but biological

he did not destroy my world, he created it

 

5.

fresh dirt tastes like cookie dough if you close your eyes tight enough and grit your teeth until they nearly crack in two

it tastes like the sickening sound of fist to skin, skin to blood

tastes like the bitter tang of her boyfriends (which one is it this week?) name on my tongue when he insists that one day I'll call him dad

and I keep bracing myself for impact - wondering how many times an arm can be broken before it gives up the ghost

because I am haunting my own bones and I've forgotten the taste of love

 

6.

his voice is creaky like the hinge of an unoiled screen door when I was so sure I locked it behind me

"good boys don't pick fights they can't win" he says and I know this - know that detention exists for societies lowest 

and I don't have the energy to tell him that boys like me have no choice but to fend off the predators that gnaw on our bones with razor sharp teeth

because we're born in steel cages instead of a womb - the key tossed upon conception

if we do not fight, we will die

we were not built to live, we were built to survive

 

7.

I am the weary traveler your mother warned you against

I've pockets filled to the brim with empty dreams, shoes full of sand and boulder tied to sharp shoulder blades

my insides are coated with black sludge and all I can offer is pollution and notes between the margins of your favorite books

but you stay

you stay and I'm terrified

 

8.

let it be me

let it be _me_

 

9.

if there's one thing I want you to know about me it's that my love is a war zone laced with grenades, painted crimson red and hemorrhaging on the inside

sew me up, I will still bleed

touch me, I will still want

love me, I will still ask for more than you can give

my love is a war zone and you're the casualty

I'm sorry

 

10.

you tell me you love me and suddenly I can't breathe

lungs collapse under the weight of being someone you could adore

because I don't understand how this works and I want to give you the world

but I can't even give you myself


End file.
